July 2009 Archives

We’ve lived here on Long Island for … I want to say 10 years rounding up, but to be precise… 7 years, 6 months and 31 days. All this time I have been walking past the giant blueberry bush in our backyard with curiosity — but for some strange reason, always assumed that the fruit was poison. “You can’t EAT those” I’ve exclaimed many times… I don’t recollect any traumatic near death berry eating experiences — although I didn’t exactly grow up in the woods scrounging for food. And I do love blueberries.

Then for a while I harbored this weird procrastination-like theory that why bother with the blueberry bush — the birds eat them all anyway… as if I know this for a fact? I imagined myself getting swooped down upon for approaching the fruit once it was ripe… Oh well — you can’t eat them anyway. This year, for whatever reason, it dawned on me that — they aren’t wild blueberries… this is a well groomed — manicured blueberry bush that must be … 8 feet tall and probably 10 ft around…. Someone planted it. Obsession kicked in.. and has certainly paid off….

This is the time of the year, in the Hamptons, that I start to notice a shift in behaviors. There are two walks of life communing around town together — all aware of each other while turning a blind eye to each others existence. This is the way it should be…

Last week I was thinking about approaching the deli counter at Schmidt’s in Southampton. I took a loop around the store (again giant child in cart) and found myself at the back of a crowd. The line was typical, but what I immediately noticed was the silence… no one was talking and people looked at me with giant fear-filled eyes.

“My driver has my number — he just left the store to turn the air on in the car– I’m sorry but I was next — I might not have the number sweetie, but my driver will be happy to shove it up your a** if you want to step outside” — Man #1 said to Man #2 who I know to be a full-time Southamptoner…

I froze – becoming a part of the 12-odd equally frozen by-standers

“I didn’t realize that you needed a driver to do your dirty work” — said Man #2

“Do you reaaaally want to take this to another level just for the sake of your pathetic rotisserie chicken — you can get those at 7-11 for G*** sake… Honey, a pound of the LOOOOBSTER salad I said — not Tuna” — he wasn’t looking and slammed his hand basket to the ground “I swear, you people”. — Man #1…

Standing in front of me (of course) Enter Man #3.
“If that basket had come a hairline closer to my wife’s toes — you’d be crying over a hell of a lot more than your place in line…..You had better get some manners fast you F******* a*** NYC B*** S****F*****Mother ******Balls****Meal Ticket***Driver can **** My****Talk to ***** Loser *****Trust Fund*******”…… I can’t publish the rest–it was too much for anyone’s ears — the crowd roared with applause — whoop whoop from the deli staff.. I glanced over my right shoulder — Oooo sushi… I grabbed the spicy tuna and ran.

It’s not easy living among the two breeds. One never knows who is going to be THAT person — everyone looks really nice… And — it’s summer… for most it’s vacation… there shouldn’t be any angst. But alas… after leaving Schmidt’s I was… stuck in traffic–blood pressure rising, when a woman passed me on the right…at first I thought “who the H does she think she is..” Then she ran the red light and cut through the intersection… I laughed. Good for her. If I had a Trike — I might not have a care in the world either.

I've been blogging quite a bit lately about being my experiences with Will, our almost-2yr old. I don't intend to make this a forum for "mommy-blogging", he's just been a very entertaining relief and I can't help but observe. That being said— Childrens programming on television needs to grasp reality. These kids are too smart for you… Elmo, UGH! And the horror of CAILLOU — the combination of a soon to be Charlie Brown and the weirdest/dullest/baldest 4 year old around? I thought we would try out Yo Gabba Gabba… I mean the leader of DEVO can't screw this up  — the dancing kids are fun, but I feel like I'm sending Will to HR Puff-n-Stuff land with Witchie Poo. Sid the Science Kid is okay, as is Wordworld… but then you get hit – SMACK – with the creepy guinea pig in the Wonder Pets — and to boot, that duck has a speach impediment… "This is Seeweeous" We want Will to pronounce his Rs. Does anyone know when Jack's Big Music Show is coming back?

Maybe I'm being a little overly critical… I grew up with Mr. Rogers — who seems to still be ON daily—despite passing away decades ago. There are many more options today… and HD makes it seem like the characters are right in the room vs. onscreen… One would like to think that the geniuses of the world out there — and I'm NOT referring to the ones that created Blues Clues — would get together and produce something GOOD. Will only watches TV for a few mintues before running off to whatever he has planned… I just want the good stuff to sink in—I only need a few minutes.

let the colors inspire.

Image via Wikipedia

They say that the age of 2 is terrible. I’m thinking that the age of 34 isn’t so hot either, but I am beginning to see the reasoning behind the terribleness of two and it really isn’t the two-year old’s fault. Will is currently 20 months old and is trying with all of his mighty might to talk to us. There is a great deal of pressure and he tries really really hard — talking, toilet training–understanding that you sit on it, not put your hands in it… Your toys, the Bluedog’s toys, only put the fake keys in your mouth.  If I had to do and not do all of these things I’d be stressed out and frustrated too…. which seems to lead to melt-downs and breaking things (much like someone else I know).

Last week – - upon being told not to play with the propane for our outdoor grill, he turned and broke a flower pot — threw it to the ground with massive angst… I said “No!” and knelt down to pick up the pieces while he turned and threw 3 more pots–shattering on the patio… he laughed.

This morning he was so tired… didn’t want to wake up, but I made him get out of bed.. Growing is exhausting, you know. Yawning we went into the kitchen, I opened the pantry for the cereal and turned my back to reach for his bowl when — CRASH, down came the Oreos that were haphazardly placed on a Will-can-reach-shelf… “No!” I rushed to pick up the cookies, only to spin around to see him half-way through his second helping. I know it was his second because of there is no way one cookie generated all the cocoa yumminess now on his face and hands… he laughed — and this time, I laughed right with him. 

Last year I posted “Then Suddenly..” announcing the mysterious arrival of our pumpkin patch…. Well, I am happy to report that it was not a once in a lifetime phenomenon.

Behold, the return of the pumpkins!

Let it be known that these orange balls of fun will never cease!! Grow seeded wonders, Grow!

How much longer do our arms need to be in order to extend out to the reaches of where we are trying to get to?

What?

In other words, Brookstone is strangling my email account.

A few weeks back – while at the Stamford "Town Center" I purchased a little gifty gift for my husband's birthday. It was something that I never imagined could exist — but he asked for it and I found it at Brookstone. Thinking that this was the greatest store on earth—saving me from having to build the in-shower fog-less lighted shave mirror, I was very grateful… The clerk had a heck of a time ringing me up though— apparently he needed proof of my first born, blood type and a DNA sample but when he asked for my email I hesitated. Why? I don't need emails from Brookstone… I hate html emails and I hate sale notices– among the thousands of emails in my inbox — this would only add to the clog.  I refused — but he was a persistent little bugger and insisted that he could not complete the sale without my email address. Now… how is this possible.. I started to rant and wave my hands wildly — EMAIL-ISM! What if I don't have an email address — would you not let me buy this amazing thing? I don't even own a computer — Are you telling me that every person on this planet that tries to buy something from Brookstone MUST have an email address???  I was beginning to scare my son so I took a breath…. My email address is… rms@…

I understand the need for my email address.  As a member of the marketing world — one would assume that I would hop
right in and wade in the flux of list building tools. Instead, I
hypocritically recommend these tactics while loathing them at the same
time. I do think, however, that REQUIRING one's personal information in order to allow the purchase of a in-shower fog-less lighted shave mirror is taking the world order a little-teeny-tiny-bit too far.

To date, I have received 3 to 4 emails a day from Brookstone since my purchase. I have tried to "unsubscribe" but they must have watched my wall bouncing display and have decided to blacklist and proceed with torture.  Pray for me, please.

1. June was abnormally wet… shocker
2. Index THIS… [alistapart]
3. George Lucas…copycat? [unbeige]
4. This book is glued to my hand… [cooltools]
5. Phở [passionforeating]
6. Watch out… crazy librarians! 
7. Never mess with a Van Halen… especially Eddie
8. Stuff to do with old jars… or you could just recycle… [renest]
9. Twitter is the new Digg… and the English language is screwed…
10. Death to Deaccessioning!!!
11. This is a great kitchen… with really ugly chairs… [designsponge]
12. And…. Courthampton!!! The insanity never fails to amaze me…